


Memories

by Prufrax



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prufrax/pseuds/Prufrax
Summary: Losing someone is never easy, losing oneself is well beyond anything that can be conveyed with words.





	

The golden glow of the afternoon sun was shining brightly through the window at the end of the hallway. Its radiance did nothing to brighten the pale, austere walls that surrounded me, and it did even less to allay my fears as I stared at the inconspicuous door before me.

My respiration came with a bit of a nervous shakiness as I pointlessly stalled by trying to calm myself with deep breaths. The nurse at the front desk had offered me that gentle smile after calling my name, the one that only appeared on her face when it was a good day. Today was a good day, so there was no reason to worry, right? Right?

I took one more deep breath and turned the handle. The door opened to reveal a room that had not changed in the slightest since the last time I was here. It could not, in fact, change. Everything inside this space had to remain constant, lest it caused its inhabitant an anxiety attack.

Pale colors covered the walls. It was supposed to be calming, or so the doctors claimed. As far as ornaments went, there was one painting hanging from the wall in front of the bed, and on the night table rested a vase of assorted flowers that were always kept fresh, that was it. One chair, one couch for two people and the mandatory bed made up the furnishings. To say that it was bland and boring was a rather kind understatement. It was nothing at all like its current occupant. This was not, could not, ever be home for her, and by extension, for me. Ever.

I swallowed the knot that had formed in my throat and tried to smile as I beckoned to the figure currently lying on the bed.

“Hey there.”

She was propped against the headboard with her back resting on a couple pillows and staring out the window toward the purple clouds that littered the darkening sky.

“Hey!” she replied enthusiastically after turning toward me.

There was recognition and joy in her aquamarine eyes, and I could not help feeling like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Feeling braver, I stepped forward and took her in my arms.

“Hey, you! How are you doing?”

“Peachy. You know me, having endless adventures.”

We both giggled at the inside joke, and I reveled in the caress of her breath on my neck.

Not too long after I sat on the chair by the bed, she had already monopolized the conversation. I did not mind it at all, and in fact, I loved listening to every one of her anecdotes. So many of them I had shared with her, so I devoured every little morsel of our history that she offered without hesitation. The fact that she made each tale overly colorful and often blew it completely out of proportion merely added to the charm.

Night finally arrived, and just as I returned from turning on the light, she arrived at the topic I always dreaded would come up each time we talked like this. The ephemeral nature of life, and of course, happiness.

“Life is so short, you know,” she began, as she almost always did every time this conversation took place. A pensive expression came to her freckled face before she continued. “I understand that being happy all the time is crazy talk, but I do feel like through life people should create as many good memories as they can. After all, those are the building blocks of our existence.”

Already I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes and the slow but inevitable tightening in my throat. What she was going to say next would break my heart for the hundredth time, and just as I had done before, I would have to endure. For her sake, I could not allow that sadness to show. After our time together was done, I was going to take it back home with me and pour it all into my pillow. Alone.

“Just like our memories together,” she added after a beat, regaling me with a toothy grin. “Each and every one could be the happiest time of my life, and all together, they make my life worth living. I think I would die if I lost them.”

Her expression darkened after that, and to me, bathed as she was in the harsh, cold light of the fluorescent lamp above us, she suddenly looked like a phantom.

“This sucks,” she spat, the frustration clear in her voice. “Being stuck here, sick with who knows what, unable to be out there with you. We could be making so many fun memories together!”

I did not dare to reply anything, lest I would choke out the words and reveal the sorry state of my mood. Oh, and she had yet to land the finishing blow.

A smile, this time a bit guarded and unsure, appeared on her face. She leaned toward me and captured both my hands with hers.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sure that even here we can make new, fantastic memories. I will treasure those even more, because of how much harder to come by they are going to be. They are going to be all the more special, don’t you think?”

My hands practically tightened around hers of their own volition, and I leaned forward too, resting my forehead against hers. I shut my eyes, trying to keep the tears away, and nodded vigorously.

She pulled away suddenly, throwing both our hands in the air in celebration. Then, she scooted closer to the edge of the bed and kissed me. Her lips were soft and warm and delicious, unchanged by time or place or disease or my current emotional state. Our lips touched rather passionately for what seemed like minutes and minutes, and it grounded me to know that even in our current situation some things would never change. To me, she would always be the brightest lighthouse in the middle of the storm.

The rest of my visit became a blur after that, and soon enough I was walking out of the room under oath of returning the next day. If I was lucky maybe it would be another good day, and I would just have to do this all over again. Surely I could handle that much. Now, were I not so lucky… well, I would cross that bridge once I came upon it.

As I turned to close the door, my gaze fell upon the one other thing that would never change in my life. Right below her name on the plate beside the wooden frame, a single sentence stood out from the rest, menacing and ominous: Early Onset Alzheimer’s.

FIN


End file.
